


Alphabet Pony

by tygermine



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance
Genre: 2010 bandom big bang, CIA AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the biggest drug wars is currently raging in Africa and the CIA has decided to get involved. Agent McCoy is the unlucky bugger who finds himself battling language barriers, wannabe gangsters and Gabe Saporta, who is currently sporting a list as long as his arm of people who want to kill him. Can Travis save the day? Or will he be adding his name to the list? Also - Bob Bryar stops in to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alphabet Pony

**Always Keep Your Cool**

 

"Look, man. You want the dope or you wanna ask me to the dance?"  

"Hey, keep cool dude. I want the dope. I just don't wanna get ripped off. I'm a business man, just like you." 

Javier pulled a glock from out of nowhere, his goons mimicking his actions. Travis was now staring down nine barrels. This was not going to end well. 

"Hey. Hey. Keep cool man. I just want to test the merch." 

"You don't trust me? Why? Cos I'm Bolivian? Cos I'm not some Americano asshole? Fuck you! My stock is pure. Fucking virgins piss this stuff out for me, gringo. Now press enter on your fancy little apple Mac and pay me." 

Travis sighed. "Fine. I just gotta put a password in - you know how these internet transactions are super protected and shit. Nero, do your thing." He nudged Dishashi who, instead of pointing out that he was using a Sony Viao thank you very much, leant over the laptop and quickly typed in the codes and passwords. With a beep, the money was wired, cute little animations and all. Apple could kiss his ass. 

"Happy Javier? Now my associates and I are gonna pack up this shit and leave nice and respectable like. Ok?" Travis kept his voice calm and steady, looking each goon in the eye as he said it. 

Javier nodded and his cronies lowered their glocks. 

Travis and Disashi quickly packed up, all the time keeping their eyes on the Bolivians. They were five yards from the building when SWAT swept in and in a blaze of gunfire killed all nine men in the basement. 

  
Disashi sank into a chair opposite Travis' desk and waved a bottle of Jack Daniels at him. 

"To the end of another drug bust." He poured two tumblers of whiskey and pushed one glass across to Travis. "And to a hundred more scumbags we will nail." 

"Cheers to that," Travis smiled weakly and took a long sip. 

"Ephedrine. Fuck. They're not even mixing it out of state anymore, just bringing in the ingredients and cooking it up here." 

"Well, then here's to fucking off half the manufacturers on the east coast." Disashi raised his glass. 

"Now to cut off the other half." Travis clinked his glass with Disashi. 

 

Director Wentz was in a mood the next morning. He stormed into his office and slammed the door, making the blinds swing madly. He fell into his chair and sighed. Running a hand over his face, he reached for his phone and dialled a number. 

"In my office. Now." 

Five minutes later, Travis entered his office. 

"Hey chief." 

"Travis," Wentz pushed a file across the desk towards him. "New op. You're going undercover." 

"Again?" 

Wentz nodded. "We got a lead from a crew on the West coast. Another supplier." 

Travis read through the docket. 

"South Africa?" 

"Don’t forget to pack your safari outfit. You leave in five hours." 

Travis nodded and left, docket in hand.

 

 **It’s A Jungle Out There**

Oliver Thambo International Airport – Johannesburg, South Africa

 

Travis hated flying. He really did. In fact, it was up there with his top five pet peeves, including countries that didn’t know what snow was, countries that didn’t speak English and countries that were run by communists. And South Africa covered pretty much his entire list. He couldn’t think of a worse place for a drug dealer to set up shop.

 

Once in the terminal, he kept his head down and headed for the Avis car depot.

 

“Hello sir, what can I help you with?” asked a young African woman, her hair in tight small cornrows along her scalp.

 

“Mr Smith, collecting.” Travis answered. The young woman smiled. “And the joke?” he asked.

 

“No joke sir, I just imagined that someone named Mr Smith wouldn’t look so, uh... un American?” she tried.

 

“My grandpa was white.” He muttered.

 

“So was mine.” She shrugged.  She processed his rental and handed him the keys. “One Toyota Hilux 4 x 4, as requested.”

 

“Thanks.” He added some extra American charm to his accent took the keys and found the large off road vehicle. “Fuck me,” he whistled, before climbing behind the wheel and cranking the engine.

 

First stop – mission control.

 

Using the sat nav, Travis drove to the CIA safe house in Orange Grove, just south east of the Johannesburg city center. He ignored the festering houses, homeless vagabonds not even ten years old begging at his window and the Nigerian whores selling their craft on the way. He parked the four wheel drive in a hidden driveway next to the house and headed inside.

 

“So, you’re Agent McCoy,” came a voice from inside the house, over the blaring TV and noisy neighbours.

 

Travis squinted through the mid afternoon gleam that spilled through the kitchen window. Sequential thumps told him someone was walking down a flight of stairs. Soon a large African man entered the kitchen.

 

“Hola, my brotha.” The man said.

 

“Hi,” Travis answered quickly.

 

“So, you’re the new undercover the Yanks have sent to back up the SAPS, eh?” he scratched his round beer belly with bitten nails, while slapping at a fly.

 

“Yeah, that would be me. Travis McCoy, reporting for duty.” Travis glanced around and prayed that Wentz would phone him right now and bray out a stupid ‘you’re punked, asshole.’ But no – Travis was stuck in South Africa, with a large sweaty black dude talking in a weird accent. Fuck, his life.

 

“Agent McCoy, I’m special agent Thabo. With a T,  _my bra._  We’ve got some serious kak on our hands, and we’re severely understaffed so any help is very appreciated. Even if it is just one officer.”

 

“Hey, man, no problem. We’re all out to get the same assholes, right?”

 

Agent Thabo nodded. “But with your accent, they’ll fuck you up right away. What’s your backstory?”

 

“Uh, raised in SA, shipped to America – army brat.” Travis supplied.

 

Agent Thabo shook his head. “ _Aiybo_ , those fucking  _kamma_  gangsters won’t buy that for a second.  _Eish. Wena_ , listen to me. You have a new backstory. Born in Egoli – that’s Johannesburg. AIDS orphan. Raised by white Americans.  _Sharp_?”

 

Even though Travis understood maybe only every second word, he nodded. Suddenly very, very fucking scared.

 

“Good. Ok, tonight we’re meeting at the _shebeen_. I’ll drop your name; make you out to be some new  _umfaan_  that’s just come to live with me. You got it?”

 

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re saying, just don’t get me shot.”

 

Agent Thabo smirked around his cigarette. “No guarantees to that in Jozi, my friend.”

 

Travis officially hated his life and was itching to phone Wentz and tell him where to stick their case. Africa? Fucking Africa? What the fuck??? Instead, he did what every other man would do, he called his best friend.

 

“Yo, Shashi!”

 

“Shashi, my man, you have to get me the fuck outta here!” Travis started, ignoring the sounds of pool and Jay Z in the background.

 

“Travie, what the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“Secure line?” Travis asked

 

“Dude, you’re calling me on my grandma’s phone. Asshole.”

 

“So, I’m in fucking South Africa.”

 

“...”

 

“Disashi, you there?”

 

“South Africa? As in deepest, darkest, lion country Africa?”

 

“I ain’t seen any lions yet, but yeah. Sashi, who’d I fuck off to get this assignment?”

 

“I dunno, but I’ll check it out. You sit tight, grab a shotgun and keep the lions off your ass.”

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Travis hung up and lay back in his bed. Africa. Fuck.

 

 *********************** 

The  _shebeen_  was loud. People were crowded around open fires, quartz bottles in hand laughing about stuff spoken in a language Travis had not been trained in. Agent Thabo led him through the courtyard and into a room on in the far end of the house-like building. The room was gloomy and closed with a large table and chairs on either end.

 

“This your conference center?” Travis asked.

 

 “African style,  _china_ ,” agent Thabo answered. 

 

 “ _Eish_ , Thabo, why you bring in your family. Our business does not run on nepotism.”  A lanky, cocky looking man steps out of the shadows.

 

“Saporta,” Thabo rolls the r’s in his mouth.

 

“Nepotism is what Africa is built on and if you want to do business here, you learn to live with it.”

 

Travis’ heart sank at the sight of Gabe fucking

Saporta standing across from him. His cover had just gone to shit.

 

Saporta leaned against the table, local beer in his hand and leered at Travis, taking in more than his expression showed. With a nod, he let them further into the room. 

 

“So, Thabo, what kind of relative is he?” Saporta sank into a chair and pointed his beer bottle at Travis. 

 

“Rich little fucking nephew. A  _coconut_  if you will. Born Eastern cape, raised fucking American.” Thabo spat. 

 

“I had rich relatives.” Saporta leant over the table eyeing Travis. “In Uruguay, we burned them all.”

 

“I ain’t worth burning,” Travis cut in. “Seriously. I got student bills to pay.”

 

 “Oh really, little American? And what kind of degree are you working so hard to pay off?” Saporta turned to him, beer bottle poised near his mouth, eyes glittering with malice.

 

“Art History.” Travis muttered, thankful that Saporta hadn’t outed him and curious at what Gabe was gonna bust out next.

 

 Saporta let out a loud laugh. “So fucking typically self indulgent. So fucking American. In a world where anything past 7th grade will do, where kids would kill to study as doctors and engineers, you fucking Americans will study shit like art history. Who gives a crap who painted the Mona Lisa, or who built the Arc de Triumphe.”

 

“For a foreigner, you seem to care a lot about this place...” Travis said. 

 

Saporta shot out of his chair. “Because this shit hole is just as bad as the one I left, only, their cops are cheaper to bribe than American ones.”

 

 Travis put up his hands. “Hey, man, no offence meant, just making an observation.” 

 

“Fair enough,” Saporta nodded. “Thabo. We all set for the deal? Have you got my money?” 

 

Thabo nodded. “Tomorrow. Midnight. Ponte tower. I’ll have your money. You just make sure you have the merch.” 

 

“Tell me, Saporta, is your boss ever gonna show his face? Or is he gonna keep hiding his face like a woman?” Travis asked; hand on the base of his back, fingers curling around the handle of his 9mm special. 

 

“I see you want to taunt me with schoolyard tricks. My boss is a very smart person and prefers to not deal with underground slime.” Saporta smiled. 

 

“Yeah, I guessed so. Your boss is obviously a pussy.” 

 

“ _Aiybo_ , Travis,  _woza lapa_.” Thabo signalled him to a corner. “Don’t ever talk shit like that about his boss.” 

 

“It’s true my friend, I’m very close to my... employer. An attack on his character is an attack on mine. So back the fuck off.” Saporta waved his hand at Travis before grabbing a nearby whore and pulling her into the house. Travis stormed towards the car. 

 

“Hey,  _wena_. Travis, what the fuck is your problem? You’re going to blow this for me.” Thabo pushed him against the car. 

 

“That asshole needs to get taken out. I swear to god, dude, at the raid, I’ll shoot him myself.”

 

Travis was fucking pissed off. “Who’s his fucking boss anyway?” 

 

“We don’t know. We want to know, we’re trying to know, but you alienating the enemy is not helping. We’re trying to get someone on their team but no one makes it through the ranks. I’ve lost a lot of good men to that gang. When they got found out, their bodies were found mutilated. Fingers, genitals, and sometimes faces missing. Media called it  _muti_ murders. I’d like to say I’m a bigger man and just want to arrest them all, but in truth, I want them all dead.”

 

“Whoa, Thabo! That’s a bit harsh, seriously, dude. I just need more intel and I’m sure we can get a mole inside.”

 

Thabo led Travis to the car and drove them back to the safehouse.

 

“Forget about South America, forget about Russia. The drugs are coming from Africa. Congo to be exact. Since they opened the borders in the national parks, these dealers are smuggling the drugs through the national parks into South Africa, loading fucking 40 foot containers and shipping them to the States. Cheaper labour, cheaper bribes, bigger profit margins and the drugs are better. They got smart – import the raw ingredients and mix it up State side. It ain’t drug running when you’re importing raw chocolate wrapped in the cocoa leaves.” Thabo ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

 

 

“What’s Saporta got to do with this?” 

 

“He’s the middle man, the contact point. And it’s not his first time. He was middle man in South America until they got antsy and wanted him gone. He blew up an entire factory as a big fuck you to the greedy bastards. Now he’s in Africa running between the Nigerian drug lords, Congolese manufacturers and the South African gangsters. He’s going to end up on the wrong

side of a smoking gun.”

 

***************************

 

Midnight – Ponte Towers, Johannesburg central.

 

Travis squinted up at the huge, neon Vodacom sign that circled the top of Ponte Towers, an apartment block from the 60s that was built like a cylinder. Twenty floors where you can rent an apartment for the same it would have cost in the 70s when Hillbrow was still hipster land. Now, every second window had a red light in it and the stairwell was littered with children, used needles and condoms. Where despair reeked as much as the piss in the corners.

 

He didn’t mention Saporta when he reported to Wentz earlier that day. He didn’t want to get pulled out now that Saporta seemed to be playing along with his mission. He wanted nothing more than to pull Gabe aside and find out what exactly this fucking asshole’s agenda was. Will he blow the mission at the last second? Was he going to double cross them? It was giving Travis an ulcer he really didn’t need.

 

They took the stairs to the tenth floor as the elevators were dodgy at best and used more for sexual transactions than actual travelling. Thabo mentioned that one family was actually squatting in the south shaft. Travis could only shake his head in disbelief.

 

 

The apartment was sparsely furnished, the lights of the Vodacom sign outside throwing the room into hues of blue, green and white. Around a card table sat Saporta and two other men Travis did not recognise. 

 

“Mr Tsabalala and his nephew. Let me introduce you to my colleagues – Mr Victor and Mr Bongani.” The two men were the colour of dark chocolate. Of war, hardship and survival. Mr Bongani was a tall, skinny man with pockmarked skin. Mr Victor was built like the Pillsbury dough boy, but his eyes made Travis shiver.

 

 

“Enough pleasantries. Let’s get this over with. The wives are expecting me home and I have an early appointment with the president.” Mr Victor said, unnecessarily. 

 

“Of your bridge club?” Travis couldn’t help himself. 

 

 

“Right. Ok, well, just hand over the stuff and we’ll be on our way,” Travis wanted to get out of there and take a shower. A really hot one. 

 

“Cash, please.” Gabe extended his hand. Thabo handed it over. Gabe put it on the table, opened it, and whistled at the neat stacks of South African Rand notes.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded his head. “It’s all there.”

 

He reached behind Victor and pulled out a duffel bag bursting with plastic packs of powdered drugs. He threw it at Travis, who caught it an instant before a loud, bright burst of light shot out of nowhere. Travis hit the ground, his gun in his hand. Shaking his head, he saw Gabe at the door, briefcase in hand.

 

He scrambled after him, ignoring the gunshots going off behind him. He raced down the stairs, trying not to trip over the debris lying everywhere. He heard a familiar giggle and ran after it.

 

He finally hit street level and looked around. Even at midnight, the streets were packed with people.

 

He decided to go left, out of Hillbrow and into Bez Valley. He saw Gabe a few yards ahead of him, running, briefcase in hand. It never occurred to him to shoot, so he followed him through the dirty streets, past dilapidated apartment buildings and into suburban shanties.

 

Suddenly, Gabe was gone. He ran up to where he last saw the Uruguayan sonovabitch and looked down the alley to his left. The world went black.

 

 

 **There’s Always A Bigger Picture**

Travis woke up with a face that hurt.

 

“About time you woke up, Jesus.” Gabe was sitting across from him in a nice hotel room; hand out the window holding a cigarette.

 

“Asshole. Where are we?”

 

“Definitely not Cabo, that’s a fact.” Gabe took a long drag while his eyes raked over Travis, who was only now realising he was tied to the bed.

 

And in his boxers.

 

“What the fuck? Gabe, what’s going on?”

  
“I should be the one asking you, fuckface. Are you purposely trying to fuck me over?”

  
“What?”

  
“Since when are you dealing drugs in Africa?” Gabe ground out the cigarette and stood in front of Travis. “Last I heard you became a fucking cop. You should be patrolling a beat in New York, not fucking up my cons.”

 

“That was a con?” Travis muttered. “So the drugs?”

 

“Were real. Those guys are real gangsters. The money, however, you fucked up. It isn’t real. It’s what agencies use to buy drugs. Are you a secret agent?”

 

“No...kind of. Can you untie me? I really need some coffee. What happened to Thabo?”

  
“Your uncle?” Gabe even made those obnoxious finger quote signs. “He got away. Killed my gangsters too.” 

  
“Wasn’t that your plan? Get us to kill them while you run with the money?” 

  
“That was an improv. I wasn’t sure how long you’d play along, so I had to cut and run.” 

  
“Thanks for fucking up my mission, asshat. Also – hands. Untie. Please?” 

  
Gabe huffed and stepped towards the bed. “Only if you promise not to fucking run off. We need to talk.” 

  
He untied Travis and handed him a cup of coffee. Travis took it gratefully and sipped carefully. 

  
“Its not drugged, douchebag. Just fucking drink it.” 

  
“Don’t you think it’s about 5 years too late to talk?” 

  
“I wasn’t the one that left town to go save the fucking world. I stayed behind. I had people to look after.” Gabe snapped, folding his arms over his chest. 

  
“Yeah, great job on that. I heard about the fire. Sorry man.” 

  
“It was a mistake I don’t plan on making again.” 

  
“So... what? Are you ripping off druglords now? African druglords?” 

  
Gabe shrugged. “In a way. I’m running a con. A big one. This one goes all the way to the top.” 

  
“And at the end of the con? What then?” 

  
“They all fucking die.” Gabe muttered, his eyes hard. “But you come bumbling in all secret agent undercover and blew it.” 

  
“I wasn’t the one setting off fucking bombs.” 

  
“You need to get the fuck out of the country and tell them over there to mind their own fucking business. This is not South America. Go get your passport and get on the next flight to JFK.”

  
“I need to debrief Thabo first.” 

  
“Fuck him. Get your ass out of this country. But put some pants on first.” 

  
Travis shook his head, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Never thought I’d live to hear you say that to me.” 

  
“Yeah, well, please note how I’ve not made any remarks about your ass other than kicking it out of here. See how I’ve grown as a person.” The sarcasm dripped off the last sentence as Gabe turned from Travis to look out the window.

  
 *****************

  
“What the fuck happened in South Africa?” Wentz demanded the first morning Travis was back in the office. He was still jet lagged and not in the fucking mood to do anything other than drink himself into a coma. “I had two teams ready to go out and back you up, but now I’ve got you in my office with the SAPS on the phone demanding to know why we have two dead cabinet members. What the fuck?” 

  
“Wentz, it was a bust. There’s nothing happening in Africa. Those two wannabe gansters got in over their heads, lost their cool and drew weapons on us. We defended ourselves.” 

  
“And the money?” 

  
Travis tried not to squirm. He could still see the briefcase in Gabe’s hotel room. “I don’t know. There was a third suspect that I chased. I don’t know where the money went.” 

  
Wentz pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re dismissed because I’m getting a migraine. We’ll continue this later.” 

  
Travis pushed out his chair and left the office, his mind still spinning. Why was Gabe running cons on some of the most dangerous criminals in the world? Life was cheap to them, they didn’t hesitate to shoot. Was he so confident in his bullshit that he wasn’t worried? Or was he on a kamakazi mission? 

  
Disashi was sitting at the desk opposite Travis’ and eyed his friend wearily before throwing a paper ball at him. 

  
“Hey, you want to tell me what really happened?”

  
“Gabe happened,” Travis replied.

 

 Disashi whistled low and dropped the subject.

    
 *****************

  
Travis blew into his cupped hands as the van raced through the streets of Prague. Disashi sat next to him, carefully checking his weapons and comms. The brothers Way sat across from him. Mikey was typing something into a laptop while Gerard checked his lipstick. Travis grinned. 

  
“What?” Gerard asked, heavily made up eyes going wide. 

  
“Nothing. Just wondering what your rates were,” He smirked. 

  
“You can’t afford me on your government salary.” Gerard retorted, then huffed a sigh. “Mikey, are you sure there weren’t any female agents available for tonight? This is fucking embarrassing.” 

  
Mikey shrugged, keeping his eyes on the screen. “All the girls were busy and we needed a date for Travis. You look lovely.” 

  
Gerard smacked him across the back of the head. “Asshole. But thanks.” 

  
The van screeched to a stop and Mikey closed the laptop. “Ok, you guys know the drill. Travis and Gee go inside. You’ve been set up for the VIP area. Disashi, you cause a distraction. Travis, you and Gee get into the back rooms. Our sources say they’re holding the kids in the top west corner. Iero and Bryar’s teams will come in once we have confirmed visuals.” 

  
They all nodded and climbed out of the van. 

  
“One more thing,” Mikey said. “Try not to blow the place up, or get killed.” 

  
Disashi saluted him before slipping into the darkness of the Prague alley. 

  
Travis and Gerard made their way towards the club entrance. Gerard stumbled slightly in his heels. 

  
“I thought you do undercover all the time,” Travis whispered. 

  
“No so much on high heel duty,” Gerard retorted as Travis led them up the stairs and past the bouncers.  

  
The club inside was packed with the young, rich and hip of a burgeoning economy. In the VIP section, tables were crowded with bottles of Jager, champagne, tequila and piles of cocaine. 

  
“North west corner should be through the door behind the curtain,” Travis said, head tilting towards a dark corner of the VIP section. Gerard nodded and sank down onto one of the plush red couches, his eyes constantly roaming the club. 

  
“We’re in place,” Gerard said leaning in towards Travis, pretending to whisper dirty little secrets into his ear for the benefit of the club patrons. 

  
About five minutes later, the bar exploded. 

  
“Fucking... Disashi!” Travis muttered as he pulled Gerard towards the door, slamming through and closing it quickly. They were in a stairwell. 

  
“Guess we go up?” Travis looked at Gerard. 

  
“Yeah. Just hang on.” He bent over and pulled off the high heels. “Better. Let’s go.” 

  
Guns drawn, they raced up the stairs. Four floors later, they hit a closed door. With a shrug, Gerard shot the lock in and raced inside. Travis ran in after him and skidded straight into his back. 

  
Gerard stood frozen as fifteen dirty little faces looked back at him. 

  
“Iero, Bryar, send them in. We found the kids,” Travis said, looking around for any cameras, or henchmen. 

  
Seconds later, the room was filled with agents picking up the children and carrying them outside, while others escorted the henchmen too slow to get away towards the police vans. 

  
Gerard and Travis sat on a window sill looking out over the chaos. 

  
“Why does it take the CIA to save a bunch of kids? You’d think the Prague PD could have handled this.” Travis commented. 

  
“It was about more than just the kids,” Gerard said, pulling off his wig and wiping off his make up. 

  
“What do you mean?” 

  
“Kids got us the warrant. Mikey needed access to the office here. Kolvo wasn’t just running sweatshops. Come on man. There’s a bigger picture here,” Gerard pulled a face as he peeled the fake eyelashes off. 

  
“Care to share?” 

  
“Can’t. Need to know basis. We just needed a little back up.” 

  
“Hey, Way? I always got your back.” 

  
“Thanks dude. Me too.”

  
Back at the hotel, Travis checked his phone to find five missed calls and one voicemail message. 

  
“Travis? It’s Gabe. Listen man, I know I told you to stay away, but I’m in trouble I can’t lie my way out of. I need your help. You can give me the  _I Told You So_  speech after you get me back home in one piece. Please Travie. Help me.”

 There was gunfire and shouting before the message ended.

 

Fuck.

 

 **I Think It’s A Dud**

The sun was beginning to paint the sky in light pinks and deep blues when Travis finally pushed back from his desk and stretched his back, popping it into place. He rubbed his tired eyes until he saw spots and yawned widely. With a quick shake of his head, he went back to the files spread open on his desk. 

  
Disashi found him like this a few hours later.

  
 “Travie, dude. We have a flight to catch. You know, home?” 

  
“Hmmm,” Travis replied, nose still buried in files. 

  
Disashi waved a cup of coffee in front of him. “Travie, seriously. The locals want us gone. Let’s g... what you reading?” he leaned over the desk, all thoughts of flying home forgotten.

  
 “Research. Here, listen.” Travis handed over his phone to Disashi, who listened to the voicemail and whistled loudly once it ended.

 

“Dude, what are you gonna do?”

 

“Homework first. I’ve been following leads all night,” Travis yawned to demonstrate his all-nighter prowess.

 

“And?” 

  
“He’s a dead man walking,” Travis sighed and bowed his head in defeat. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  
 “Dude, we’re the CIA, we can do whatever we want. We can totally go rescue him.” 

  
Travis looked as Disashi in the same way one would look at someone who had just confessed to actually enjoying killing kittens. 

  
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. Make your case. Wentz will totally back you up.” 

  
“What case? He’s not an agent or an asset. He’s a two bit con artist who’s getting his ass handed to him and to be perfectly honest, I think it’s about time.” 

  
Disashi looked him straight in the eye. “Stop lying. You two were tight, he’s in trouble, so technically its your karmic duty to save him.” 

  
“Karmic duty, huh?” 

  
“Yep. Just watch out, she bites.” 

  
Travis nodded. Despite Disashi’s stirring pep talk, he knew there was nothing he could do. He might be a bad ass spy that takes down some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, but he was powerless to save an old friend. He sank into his chair as his self loathing went up another notch. 

  
Once back in New York, Travis’ self-loathing had graduated to anger, at everything. From his superiors who wouldn’t help him, to the guy who sold the papers who couldn’t help him. In short, Travis hated everyone, and in this state of mind, he made his monthly trip out to Hoboken to visit his grandmother, who was about a hundred in the shade, sharp as a knife and drank spiced rum from the Caribbean. Her accent was as thick as the butter she spread on the sandwiches she made for him. 

  
“Der’ you go. Eat up you. Der’s starving people out der.” She’d always say, setting a towering sandwich with layers of ham, cheese, relish and sometimes even leftovers in front of her grandson.

  
Today, it was a simple PBJ. Nevertheless, Travis dug in with gusto. 

  
“You kill any of dem baduns lately?” she asked, lighting a long, thin cigarette and inhaling around her coughs. 

  
“Gran, you know I can’t say anything about that. Its secret government stuff.” 

  
“De government? Why would de government give a rat’s piss about what you tell your old granny, eh?” She smiled widely, displaying the last three teeth she owned, pearly white and crooked. 

  
“Cos, Gran. You’re the most important person to me. And they might use that,” Travis tried to explain. His cover of being a programmer got torn to shreds the night his Gran set him up on a blind date with a woman who actually WAS a computer programmer. So he had to come clean and now his Gran considered herself a regular Tom Clancy. Conspiracy theory books and spy thrillers littered her tiny apartment. 

  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” she waved her hand dismissingly while starting a second pot of tea. 

  
A brown package lying on the corner of the counter caught Travis’ attention. He stood up and examined it and blinked in surprise to see his own name on it. 

  
“Hey, Gran – were you ever gonna tell me I got some mail delivered here?” 

  
His gran looked up confused before a smile settled on her face. “I was gonna tell you once I decided it ain’t a bomb.” 

  
“How’d you decide that?” 

  
“It ain’t ticking and der’s been no explosion. I think it's a dud.” 

  
Travis rolled his eyes as she turned back to her tea and shook the package. Something rustled inside. He sat back down at the table, pulled out his Swiss Army knife and cut the tape open.

  
Inside was an unlabelled cd, a folded up map and an old faded photo. Travis held the photo up and blinked in surprise. He recognized the two figures entwined on the couch. 

 _  
It was late summer, the air too hot and thick to breathe. The pavement burned right through the soles of their shoes and the sun had leached all the colour out of the city._  

 _  
Two teenage boys were stretched out on an overstuffed sofa, begrudgingly sharing the rusty, old fan perched on the coffee table in front of them._  

  
“ _I don’t think it’s actually doing anything it's supposed to,” Gabe grouched, face shiny from the sweat._

 _  
Travis nodded before handing over the joint he had been sucking on._  

  
“ _It’s making the place fucking hotter,” Gabe paused to take a long drag before continuing “like a fucking, whatyoumacallit... oven. Convection oven.”_  

  
“ _Oven.” Travis echoed, properly stoned._  

  
“ _We need to find someone with an indoor pool. You know? Like down at the Y.”_  

  
“ _The Y? What, are you suddenly in the 70s?” Travis slid his eyes across to Gabe, who was working himself into full on rant mode._  

  
“ _I’m just saying, I’m fucking cooking in this place. I want to cool down. I don’t care where, as long as it's cooler than here.” Gabe took another hit of the joint._  

 _  
Travis dropped his head onto the back of the couch and stared at the stains on the ceiling._  

  
“ _Bath.” He muttered._  

  
“ _Bath? Dude, how baked are you? It’s like a gazillion degrees and you want to take a bath?”_  

  
“ _Bath with cold water. Mini pool.” Travis shrugged._  

 _  
Gabe’s face broke into a wide smile. “You’re a fucking genius man.” With more dexterity than was appropriate for someone who was pretty stoned, he jumped over the back of the couch and ran up the stairs. “You coming fuckface?” he shouted as he went._  

 _  
By the time Travis pulled himself off the couch and up the stairs, he could hear Gabe running the shower. He pushed open the bathroom door._  

 _  
“Why you showering?”_  

  
“ _It’s cooler, like standing in the rain. Come on, you gotta try it.” Gabe reached out and pulled Travis under the cold spray. Travis shivered as the water pelted down, soaking his thin t-shirt, baggy shorts and boxers. Before he realised what was going on, Gabe had stripped down and was leaning against the tiled wall, eyes closed as he enjoyed the cool water._  

 _  
Travis decided he was too stoned to do anything except stand there and enjoy the shower, fuck Gabe and his naked ass. He’s not going to let it ruin the cold break from the stifling heat._

 

 _Once they started shivering, Gabe turned off the taps and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before pulling Travis out. He swapped the soaking clothes for a towel and led Travis to his room where they both sank back onto the bed, side by side._  

 _Gabe suddenly sat up, leaned over Travis and kissed him._  

  
“ _Thanks man. You have the best ideas ever.”_   

Travis jerked himself back into reality. Fucking Gabe and his own fucking guilty conscience. His gran was ignoring his little space out and was instead doing the dishes. 

  
Travis grabbed the disc and the map before leaning against the basin. 

  
“Gran, thanks for the sandwiches, but I gotta go.” He pecked her soft, dry cheek. 

  
“Dat’s fine, my boy. You go save the world. And den you come and tell me all about it. You hear?”  

  
Travis smiled widely as he raced out the door and all the way home.

 

 **Let’s Break Some Rules**

Director Wentz eyed his agent as Travis stood there, waving a map and disc around and babbling about Africa. 

  
“I thought Africa was a bust.” Wentz leaned back in his seat. 

  
“I thought it was, all the intel we had supported it. But Boss, this disc has all the evidence we need to go in there.” 

  
“Yeah, guns blazing, causing international incidents that will have the UN beating down our door. No. McCoy, I can’t authorise this op.” 

  
“But, Boss... this evidence is-“ 

  
“Nothing but a few soft copy files from God knows where. We can’t verify any of this. Where’d you get it, anyway?” 

  
Travis coughed nervously. “Source. A source.” 

  
Wentz just eyed him wearily before swinging his chair around to face the window. “Dismissed, McCoy.” 

  
Travis sighed softly, rolled his eyes and left the office quietly fuming. 

  
“Hey man,” Disashi said as Travis sank into the chair behind his desk. “What did the boss say?” 

  
“No go. Not enough solid evidence.” Travis dropped his head onto his desk. “Fuck. So fucking close.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on not pulling out his gun and holding Wentz hostage until he got the op approved. In the background to his daydream, he heard Disashi pick up the phone, dial a number, hold the shortest conversation in the history of the world before hanging up. He then obviously hit Travis on the head with his stapler judging by the pain that shot through his head. 

  
“Ow, fuck. What?” he snapped. 

  
“Get your shit. We’re going out.” Disashi pushed back from his desk and stalked purposely towards the bank of elevators. 

Bewildered and looking to pay Disashi back for the braining, and also hoping his partner would buy him a pepperoni sub for lunch, he followed.  

About ten minutes later, they pulled into a parking lot attached to Cloud Nine, a strip club that boasted the best buffet around. 

Travis arched his eyebrows in question. Disashi just shook his head and indicated that Travis should follow him. 

Inside the music was blaring and a few patrons sat in various dark corners watching a leggy woman with long red hair swing herself around a pole. Disashi led him past the main bar, through a short hallway before stopping in front of a non-descriptive door. He opened it and pushed Travis inside. It was round, surrounded with peep show doors. 

  
“Sashi, if you think that the only way to cheer me up is by getting me to...” 

  
“Shut the fuck up. We’re not here for the girls.” He reached into the center consol of the room, flipped up a hidden panel and pressed a button. The consol moved to the left, revealing a set of stairs spiraling into the ground.

  
“Down there?” Travis asked. 

  
Disashi nodded and pushed him towards the stairs. Travis shrugged and started climbing downwards.  

  
It wasn’t very far down – about twenty feet before his feet hit solid ground. He stood to the side as Disashi joined him. They walked three paces past the stairs and entered a fortified steel door, after completing a retinal scan. Inside, sitting around a table, playing what could only be poker was The Brothers Way, Frank Iero, Bob Bryar and Ray Toro. Well, Bob and Ray were playing. Mikey was fiddling with what looked like their comms, while Gerard kept shooting nervous looks towards the ceiling in between frowning at Bryar and making comments about the injustices against sexual equality that strip clubs promote. Iero was trying to build a house of cards. 

  
Bryar noticed them standing there and threw his cards down. “Took you long enough,” he said darkly. 

  
Disashi shrugged. “Had to wait for official cockblocking. Wentz obliged.” 

  
“Guys?” Travis looked at the other agents sitting around the table. “What’s going on?” 

  
Five sets of eyes turned and looked at Disashi, who cleared his throat before plastering a wide smile on his face.  

  
“We’re gonna run our own op. Go rescue your...uh..Gabe, kill a few bad guys, be back in time for Smallville.” 

  
Travis blinked.  

  
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Ray spoke up, “But, once Bob gets started on the logistics, it’s hard to stop him. I actually think he’s more excited about this than Christmas.” 

  
“Shuddup, Toro.” Bob stood up and moved to a large monitor bank and began touching icons on the screen. “We got a copy of your disc from Sashi. It all checks out.” 

  
“Then why the shut down?” Gerard asked. 

  
“Politics,” Mikey snorted.  

  
“Explain?” Travis finally found his voice. 

  
“Urgh,” Bob made a face. “I don’t want to be here all night explaining that bullshit.” He ran his fingers over the screen, pulling a video clip onto the screen. With two fingers pulling in opposite directions, he enlarged the clip to a decent size. 

Frank leaned over to Mikey. “How much for one of those screens?” 

  
“More than you’ll ever make,” Mikey said, slightly sad and almost wistfully. 

  
“According to the intel, your friend has been captured by the Malema Men, a bunch of kids armed to the teeth with guns, ignorance and propaganda fed to them by this man,” he pulled up a second image of a bald black man, obviously in the middle of a speech, disgust marring his features. “This man is the vice president, a communist and general moron. Unfortunately, the Malema Men think he’s the second fucking coming. They are holding Gabe hostage somewhere along the Zambian/Congo border. Which is good for us, and bad at the same time.” 

  
“Why?” Frank asked, eyes bright. 

  
“Good because it’s mostly mining country around there and few settlements. Bad because we can’t hide as easily. Access is also a bitch, but I worked around it.” 

  
Travis stepped up to the monitor, the map of the border glared back at him. ”Bob, that’s a lot of land. Anyway to maybe pinpoint it?” 

  
Bob shrugged. “The only way to do that is speaking directly to the locals there.” 

  
“Don’t we have agents out there?” Ray pulled a pack of gum out and passed it around.

    
“No. There’s no war there. Kinda pointless. Nearest CIA asset is in Libya, but that’s a four day drive, across a desert. We’re solo on this one.” 

  
Travis turned to Bob. “Let’s break us some rules.” 

 **Cowboys In Africa**

“You know, when I said let’s do this, I actually meant, let’s go to Hawaii instead,” Travis shouted at Bob as they stood by the open door of the cargo hold.

  
The wind roared around them and Travis adjusted his backpack for what seemed like the hundredth time. Bob just smiled manically back at him and began the countdown. Gerard, Frank, Bob, Ray and Travis all fell one by one from the plane into the night sky. Travis sent a thank you to the moon for not being out and then concentrated on landing anywhere but the thorn trees that littered the ground.

  
He made it to a patch of open ground, but the landing winded him. As he bent over, trying to catch his breath, he looked around the bushveld.

  
“Travie? You in one piece?” Mikey’s voice came down the comm.

 

“Yeah,” he wheezed in reply.

  
“Good. Bob is at the rendezvous about 600 feet west of your current location.”  

  
“Thanks,” Travis whispered and began walking in the direction Mikey had sent him, leaving his parachute where he dropped it. He planned to be out of there before anyone spotted it.  

  
“Hey, guys, what’s the deal on wildlife? Like, should we be on the lookout for lions?” Frank’s voice came through.

  
“Usual natural hostile territory rules apply here guys. Frank, ignore the spiders,” Bob said in an almost bored voice. 

  
Travis heard Frank squeak before creatively telling Bob how to fuck off and die. 

  
A few minutes later, Travis reached an old rusty windmill. Leaning against one of the legs, Bob was scanning the area while   
Gerard tried to convince Frank that no, there are no spiders on you, now shut the fuck up before we get made. Ray stood to one side, almost vibrating with tension. Travis walked past him and patted him on the shoulder. 

  
“Fucking hate Africa,” he heard Toro mutter. 

  
By now, Frank had calmed down and was switched back into CIA agent mode. Bob checked their coordinates against the GPS unit in his hand. He then motioned for them to follow him into the gloom. After a half hour trek, they came across a small town. 

Hiding behind a garden wall, Gerard pointed towards the tavern to the right. Light, music and raucous voices spilled into the evening. Travis was about to ask Gerard what was so great about the tavern when he saw it. An old beat up land rover with the Malema Men insignia sloppily painted on the doors. Instantly they seemed to know what the next step was. Ray snuck off to procure a car for them while the rest staked out the tavern. Within fifteen minutes, Ray was back.

  
“What the fuck?” Gerard looked at Ray with bulging eyes. 

  
“What?” Mikey snapped from command central. “What’s going wrong now?” 

  
“Toro, you have truly outdone yourself this time.” Frank said 

  
“We’re supposed to use... that?” Travis couldn’t believe his eyes. 

  
“Guys!” Disashi was now in their ears “What the hell is going on?” 

  
“Ray found us some transport,” Bob cut in. “Now shut the fuck up before someone hears us, or do you want to get captured by mini Rambo?” 

  
“Seriously, guys...” Disashi sounded seriously worried. 

  
“It’s nothing Watchtower,” Travis whispered down the line. 

  
One of Toro’s horses whinnied. All five of them turned to shush it. 

  
“Was that a horse?” Mikey asked. 

  
“Sounded like a horse to me,” Disashi said through what sounded like a pastrami on rye. 

  
“What are they doing with horses?”  

  
“Do you really want me to answer that?” 

  
“You’re right,” Mikey sighed. 

  
“Guys,” Bob whispered into the comm. “Focus! Mission here!” 

  
They watched as two drunk youngsters lurched out of the tavern and poured themselves into the car. After a few seconds, the car started up with its gears screaming and then it backfired. Twice. 

  
“I lost the horses,” Ray said sheepishly. 

  
“Then, we run,” Bob said simply and started through the bush, running parallel to the dirt road. The rest of the guys took after him, but not before Gerard voiced his opinions about the whole running idea. Seriously Toro, no other cars in the whole town?  

  
Lucky for them, the driver was crawling along. Not because he was drunk and was being careful. It had more to do with the road itself. Potholes covered most of the drivable surface with thick bushes rising up on either side, making off roading a very bad idea.   
The bushes had long, thick white thorns and any possibility of wild animals sleeping underneath. 

  
After the guys had coughed up at least a lung each, they noticed noise up ahead. The light of dozens of campfires lit up the area where a few tents stood among shacks made of old sheets of corrugated iron and held down with rotting pumpkins and old wheels and other general shit. The agents edged silently closer to the campsite. 

  
“Mikey. How many are we looking at?” Gerard whispered. 

  
“Can’t say for sure. The campfires are screwing with the satellite, but I can tell you this: single figure in seated position. Four hundred yards, eleven o’clock. Clusters of heat signatures concentrated at two o’clock. Looking about two dozen bogies.”  

  
“Ok guys, do not engage. Let’s get the salesman and get the fuck out of Dodge,” Bob commanded. 

  
They nodded and fanned out, sticking to the shadows, while moving slowly towards the shack that housed Gabe. 

  
Travis made it to the shack first. Bob and Gerard hid further back in the shadows, covering him as he leaned against the door and began to pick the lock. He jumped slightly as whoops and shouts came from the militants huddled around the fires, pulled himself together before pushing open the door. Bob, Frank and Gerard followed, Ray staying back in the bushes to keep watch. 

  
The door creaked angrily as Travis pushed it open and raced towards the figure tied to the central support beam, dirty, beat up and head bowed.

  
“Gabe, Gabe! Hey man... wake up.” Travis knelt in front of the figure. Using his fingers he lightly gripped the man’s chin and tilted his head upwards. “Fuck!” 

  
Bob and Gerard stormed in. “What the hell?” Gerard began. 

  
“It’s not him. It’s not Gabe.” Travis leaned back against the tin shack wall. 

  
Gerard scuffed his boots against the packed dirt ground. “What now?” 

  
“Now we go home,” Bob shrugged “Gabe’s not here. He’s obviously dead. I’m sorry dude.”  

  
Travis shook his head. “I know he’s around here.” 

  
Gerard knelt close to the bound man. “We’ve had a mutiny. This man was the leader. See these scars?” he pointed to five short lines running horizontally down his neck, each line about two inches long. “They denoted seniority. Five lines is a lot for someone to reach in this business.” 

  
“So who’s the new boss?” Bob asked. 

  
A single crow cut through the air. 

  
“I’d know that fucking voice anywhere.” Travis stood up, full attention on the noise.  

  
“Gabe?” Frank asked.

  
 Travis nodded. “Mikey. Toro, what’s it looking like out there?” 

  
“The mosquitoes have mutated and have gone militant on us.” Ray’s voice was hushed but annoyed. “As for the teenage militants, they’re reaching paralytic on the drunk scale, but there’s a guest of honour. I just can’t see who it is.”

  
“Heat signatures haven’t really changed. We’re still on the outside.” Mikey yawned down the line. 

  
 Bob nodded. “Ok guys. Obviously Gabe is outside, surrounded by drunk, trigger happy teens.” 

  
“Typical Friday night for Gabe then,” Travis smiled widely as Gerard huffed out a laugh and Frank giggled. 

  
“I’m all for the guns blazing idea,” Toro added through the earpieces. “But that’s probably just my numb ass talking. Bob, what’s the plan?” 

  
“Sneak in.”  

  
“Sneak in? Bob, we’re not exactly blend-in-able, you know?” Gerard began chewing on a nail. 

  
Bob shot Gerard a withering glare. “Travis. You go in, pull Gabe out and meet us by the jeep. We’ll cover you.” 

  
Travis could only stare in amazement. “Bob, I know we’ve done some crazy shit before, but this is suicidal.” 

  
“Think of it as a cultural thing. They’re a bunch of big, black kids. You’re a big, black kid. Now stop with the arguing and make with the saving.” Bob shoved him towards the door. 

  
After shooting him a final dirty glare, Travis slunk out of the shack and ambled towards the crowd, adding a drunken lurch to his gait and sticking to the shadows. As he got closer, he saw Gabe perched on what looked like the back seat of an old car. The rest of the militants were spread out on logs, broken garden furniture and supply boxes. Empty beer bottles littered the ground around them as they drank and shouted and sang. Gabe was smiling from his seat, bookended by two of the biggest men Travis had seen since the time he and Gerard worked the Sumo gambling syndicate. He had a beer in each hand and was singing along. The only thing that looked out of place was the swollen blue right eye he was sporting. 

  
“Gabe is surrounded. Two motherass huge fuckers on either side. I’m gonna need back up on this. Bob, we’re gonna run the Madrid play. Ok?” Travis whispered into the comm. 

  
“Copy,” Bob said. 

  
“Madrid play? What the hell happened in Madrid?” Disashi asked 

  
“Oh no,” Mikey echoed. 

  
“I hate the Madrid play,” Toro whined. 

  
“On my count,” Travis said over them, stepping around the teens closer to where Gabe was. “Three...two...” he was crouching right behind Gabe as the final count went out. “...one.” 

  
Suddenly chaos erupted. Bob, Frank, Toro and Gerard came running out of the shadows, guns firing rapidly. The two wannabe sumos on either side of Gabe fell of the chair in their haste to grab their guns and join in the fight while Travis reached over the back of the seat, grabbed Gabe by the scruff of his neck and hauled him over backwards. Gabe landed on Travis heavily.

  
“My hero,” Gabe smirked. 

  
“You asshole,” Travis gritted out, rolling them out of the line of fire and into the bushes. “I got him. Let’s get out of here,” he shouted into the comm. Before grabbing Gabe’s hand and pulling him through the bushes. “Mikey. What’s the ETA on the helicopter?” 

  
“Five minutes. But you’re ten minutes away.” 

  
“Don’t worry, man, we’ll make it,” Travis heaved, hand wrapped solidly around Gabe’s bony wrist.  

  
The roar of an engine came up behind them. Travis dove into the bush, which wasn’t the smartest of ideas as it had thorns so long and thick, they tore at his clothes and pierced right through to his skin, grazing him all over. Gabe swore colourfully. 

  
The engine came close by. “Travis, get in,” Bob yelled over the noise. Travis pushed up onto this feet, grabbed Gabe and shoved him into the jeep, barely making it himself before Toro put his foot down, causing the jeep to lurch forward. 

  
Three minutes later they made it to the pick up point, helicopter waiting for them. 

  
The agents climbed aboard, smiling and exhausted. Gabe grabbed Travis’ hand as the helicopter flew them out of the area with the sun just beginning to sneak over the horizon. 

 

 **Yippee Kai Yay Motherfucker**

Three Days Later...

  
 Director Wentz was having a bad morning. The baby kept waking him up during the night, they had run out of coffee, the milk was sour, traffic was a nightmare and now, seven of his best agents were about to get fired. For being fucking cowboys.

 

He stormed into the boardroom, doors slamming shut behind him and stared down eight pairs of rounded eyes.

  
“Right. I want an explanation so good, so fucking air tight and believable that no one can point out any plot holes. Or I’ll be collecting all your badges today. Is that clear?” 

  
The eight heads nodded but no one spoke up. 

  
“I’m waiting. McCoy, seeing as how this was your baby, you get to tell me a tale of fuck ups, screw ups and bust ups.” 

  
Travis stood up and nervously fidgeted with his tie. Wentz just glared at him as he walked towards the large screen at the front of the room. 

  
“Mikey?” He nodded towards the Way brother who typed a few commands into his computer and the screen lit up with maps and photos. 

  
“Director Wentz, for the past few years, we have been busting our asses to take down the biggest drug syndicates in the world.   
But we were going about it the wrong way. We were just catching the middle men and the end sellers. What we should have been doing was investigating and taking down the manufacturers. Mr Saporta has been invaluable in supplying us with more information in the past few days than any of our informants have given us over the past year. He knows who is buying from who, where the money comes from, how it’s being moved, everything. We have enough here to take them all down.” 

  
“Have you been able to verify all of his information?” Wentz asked. 

  
“Down to the last name,” Frank cut in. “Gabe is single handedly running one of the biggest cons in Africa and if we help him, we can finally get ahead.” 

  
“What about on the ground support?” Wentz was now intrigued. 

  
“Unfortunately, we can’t rely on any ground support from the African armies. According to Gabe, the head generals are all taking a cut. It’s the soldiers that are helping them, not policing them.” Gerard added. “We need army assistance on this and we know the perfect cover.” 

  
Wentz nodded for him to continue. 

  
“Doctors Without Borders is our way in on one end. Mining expeditions is the other way. We can come in from two sides and take them out. The media won’t get a whiff of it until the dust has cleared.” 

  
The debriefing carried on all day.

  
“What the fuck happened in Madrid anyway?” Disashi asked. 

  
Frank and Gerard began explaining the story with lots of pauses, giggles and over-talking. Travis leant back in his chair and closed his eyes for a second. He felt a pressure on his thigh. Sliding his eyes to the side, he saw Gabe laughing at the comments Toro was adding to the story, but his hand was firmly massaging its way up Travis’ thigh. When his fingers reached Travis' groin, his leg automatically kicked out, jostling the table. 

  
“Sorry. Lame leg,” Travis growled out, grabbing Gabe’s hand and twisting it hard. “I’m beat. Think I’ll go home.” He released 

Gabe’s hand and slid out of the booth ignoring the boos coming from Frank and Bob. He headed out the bar and hailed a cab. If he was honest with himself, he was exhausted and his bed was awfully inviting. 

  
Once he stepped through the door, he shed his coat, blazer, tie, gun and badge, leaving a trail to his bedroom. He had just kicked off his shoes when there was a knock on the door.

  
 On the other side was Gabe.

  
“We should talk,” he said simply, pushing his way past Travis and into the apartment.

  
“We should,” Travis agreed.  

  
Gabe walked towards the large couch and sank down, shoulders hunched. 

  
“I... fucked up. I know. And I know what I said to you, so you have no idea how glad I was when you pulled me over that chair and out of that camp.” 

  
“Yeah, well,” Travis crossed his arms and leaned against his overcrowded bookcase. “You’re fucking lucky I’ve got a bunch of cowboys as partners or else you’d still be there. How did you get them to mutiny anyway?” 

  
Gabe smiled sheepishly. “I just told them the truth and threw in some lies. The rest was their idea. You know, it was more terrifying being in charge than being held hostage?” he rubbed the marks on his wrists, still red from the nylon rope they used to bind him. 

  
“You still mad about me leaving town?” Travis asked. 

  
“Not that you left, more that you didn’t ask me to come with. And mad at myself for not doing something I should have done a long time ago.” 

  
“Yeah?” Travis was all bravado now. “What was that?” 

  
In a smooth, stupidly fast move, Gabe was pressing himself up against Travis, hands firmly holding onto his belt. With a quick glance up to his eyes, Gabe lowered his lips and began to kiss the breath out of Travis. 

  
Without thinking, Travis wrapped his arms around Gabe, enjoying holding an old, familiar body against his chest again. All those teasing pecks, lingering hugs, and missed words were made for as Gabe deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing into and exploring Travis’ mouth. Travis growled into the kiss and pulled Gabe even closer, his hands running up Gabe’s back until they were tangled in his short curls, taking control of the kiss by pulling Gabe away in order to attack his neck. He smiled as he felt Gabe shiver under his lips, his veins thrumming in time with the beat of his heart. Travis felt in that second that this was different. 

This was something bigger and better than he ever had before or could have wished for. 

  
Gabe was ripping open Travis’ shirt, buttons flying, while redirecting them to the bedroom. He couldn’t keep his hands still as they fluttered from Travis’ hair, down his back, up his arms to his shoulders then down his chest to his belt buckle. 

  
They stumbled as Gabe tried to kick his shoes off and bumped heads leaving them light headed and giggling. Travis pushed   
Gabe back onto the bed where he lay, looking debauched and wanting more. In record time, Travis stripped down before kneeling on the bed between Gabe’s legs. Gabe had pulled his pants off in the rush and was as naked as the day he was born. Travis grabbed his right heel and in that moment, timed seemed to come grinding to a halt and stretch out like thick honey.

  
Gabe was no longer buzzing with moremorerightnowmore. He felt himself melting as Travis started kissing his right ankle before moving tortuously slow up his leg, leaving little kisses littered everywhere. He licked the inside of Gabe’s knee, causing him to shiver. Gabe’s dick was painfully erect and glistening with precome. Travis smiled in a devilish way before licking a stripe down the inside of Gabe’s thigh, running his tongue over the fold where his leg and groin met until he tasted a sharp hip bone under his tongue. Gabe wanted to implode, scream and cry all at once. He didn’t care that he was acting like a girl about the whole thing, because this was Travis. His best friend, his oldest friend and his fucking knight in white camoes.  

  
Travis leaned up and over Gabe to kiss him full on the mouth, his dick rubbing deliciously against the inside of Gabe’s thigh. 

Gabe began to buck up into the touch, searching for something, anything to satisfy the itch under his skin. Travis held him down, resting his weight until Gabe was sinking into the mattress. It was becoming all too much for Gabe as he broke the kiss and gulped down deep breaths of air. Travis took the opportunity to dig out some lube and a few condoms from his bedside drawer. 

He made quick work of getting Gabe ready, not that he could have taken his time. The moment his fingers pushed inside, Gabe was grabbing his shoulders, bucking up and almost shouting for Travis to fucking hurry up and 'fucking fuck me already'. Travis huffed a laugh as he rolled on the condom and lined himself up carefully. 

  
Gabe obviously not one to wait, wrapped his legs around Travis’ waist and pushed forward until Travis was on his back and Gabe was straddling him. With a swift movement of his hips, Gabe sank down onto Travis’ dick and after a minute of getting used to the stretch and burn, began to ride Travis. 

  
Travis couldn’t believe his luck as he lay back and enjoyed the view of Gabe fucking himself on Travis’ dick. He knew Gabe was getting close when he started to run his palm over his dick as he continued to gyrate. Travis sat up, wrapping Gabe in his arms, trapping his dick and palm between them as he rolled his hips up into Gabe. It wasn’t very long before Gabe came, spluttering curses and pushing down hard on Travis’ dick. With a stealthy flick of his tongue against Travis’ nipple, Travis came like he hasn’t in years. 

  
Exhausted, sore and happy, the two lay side by side sharing a cigarette and watching the shadows on the ceiling. 

  
“So, am I like a special agent now too?” Gabe asked out of nowhere. 

  
Travis smiled. “Let’s give it a month before we give Wentz a heart attack with that idea. In the meantime, how about you just be my boyfriend.”

  
 Gabe smiled. “Dude, that’s so fucking gay.”   

The End

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously this story takes place in southern Africa and as with each part of the world, there is a unique kind of slang.
> 
> I decided to give you my very own super duper What-The-Fuck-Is-He-Saying? dictionary. I've listed all the slang used in the story here, just to make things easier:
> 
> my bra - my friend  
> kak - bullshit  
> Aiybo - hey!   
> kamma - apparent/psuedo/wannabe  
> Eish - oh man, that sucks  
> Wena,- hey!   
> Sharp? - understand?  
> umfaan - young man  
> shebeen - pub/bar  
> china - friend  
> woza lapa - come here


End file.
